


The Means to Go On

by dreamlittleyo



Series: Distress and Disarray [13]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alternate Universe - Science Fiction, Angst, Feelings, M/M, Mutual Pining, Rank Disparity, Slow Burn, Unresolved Romantic Tension, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-16
Updated: 2018-10-16
Packaged: 2019-08-03 07:07:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 965
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16321490
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dreamlittleyo/pseuds/dreamlittleyo
Summary: In which Hamilton proposes a truce.





	The Means to Go On

It is maddening the way Washington refuses to talk about it.

This _thing_ between them has only gotten worse with time. Every new understanding, every misstep, every moment of eye contact held a beat too long. He and his general are an exercise in hypocrisy—a constant, mutual pulse of wanting with no outlet.

Washington's honor may be the only thing holding them back, but that bulwark is more than sufficient.

Hamilton still can't believe the night Washington agreed to pretend, if only for a short while. He has no idea what unlikely alchemy was at play, and no hope of reverse-engineering a similar situation. He would certainly not consider the effort wasted if it meant his general would actually _see him_. Even for just another short while, a fantasy in vivid contrast to the stalemate they’ve been inhabiting for months.

But he knows damn well he can’t have those things. He has no leverage to force Washington's hand. The tension between them is fierce and ceaseless—noticeable even to the rest of the crew, though Hamilton prays only John understands the source—and if Washington's resolve were going to break in his favor, surely it would have happened by now.

Hamilton cannot have what he wants. And he’s beginning to fear that if he isn't careful, his general might snap in the other direction. They’re both compromised, and Fleet regulations are clear about protocol in a situation like theirs. The fact that Washington hasn't already reassigned him is a small miracle.

The thought of leaving Washington is enough to steal the air from Hamilton's lungs, makes him want to scream.

He _will not_ allow that to happen. Which means his tactics need to change.

There's no reason to be nervous as he presses the chime and enters Washington's office. He finds his general sitting at the imposing desk, handsome face tight with focus. Streaking trails of starlight are visible through the window behind broad shoulders. The sight of him knocks all coherent thought from Hamilton's head—just for a moment—just long enough for Washington to raise his head in confusion at the lingering silence.

"What can I—" Washington begins to ask, but cuts short when he sees _who_ has just come through the door. His expression masks too perfectly, and his voice carries barely a hint of feeling when he begins again. "Colonel?"

Hamilton tries not to feel stung by the guarded air. "Your duty shift ended twenty minutes ago," he says, moving farther into the room and trying to look more relaxed than he feels.

"Yes." Washington sits straighter in his chair. "I just need to finish signing off on next week's rosters."

"When you're done, I thought…" Hamilton's voice sounds nowhere near as casual as he wants. A shadow of desperation leaks through; he sounds too damn earnest. He tries to ease off a little when he finishes, "We haven't played chess in a while."

They've _never_ played chess. Hamilton only knows by chance that his general is a competent player, and he's never before challenged the man to a game.

Washington's brow furrows and there is caution in his answer. "What, precisely, are you proposing?"

"A truce," Hamilton admits, because what harm is there in being honest _now_? "You used to join the crew in the mess hall sometimes. You don't anymore. I thought maybe we could… God, I don't know, a game? A meal? It doesn't have to be weird. Hell, it'll probably be good for morale."

What he's suggesting isn't just a truce, but a compromise. If they meet somewhere public, Washington can't wonder about his intentions. Can't refuse on the grounds that one of them might do something stupid. They'll be under the eyes of at least a dozen off-duty crew members, which means no chance of bad decisions.

Hamilton needs this. He needs the answer to be _yes_.

Because Washington never acknowledges him off-duty anymore. Never fucking _talks_ to him. It's like the only time Hamilton can get his general's attention is when there's a crisis, and really, no wonder their entire dynamic is off. How are they supposed to stay even-keeled when they only make eye contact if one of them is dying?

And damn it, forget the strategy of his suggestion. Forget the fear of reassignment. Forget the strain of rank and decorum. Hamilton _misses_ Washington. Maybe they weren't ever really friends before, but they were _something_. They were close. Yes, being in love with his commanding officer complicates Hamilton's entire life; that doesn't mean they have to be complete goddamn strangers.

Washington is watching him. Silent. Considering. Probably reading all of this on his face; Hamilton has always sucked at poker.

Washington hasn’t answered.

But he also hasn't refused.

Hamilton hates himself for the raw desperation in his voice when he says, " _Please_."

The silence is overwhelming as Washington rises from his desk. Leans back against the frame of the viewport. Crosses his arms over his chest. His head tilts down and to the side, gaze cutting toward the floor as though he can't bear to look directly at his subordinate any longer.

The deliberate avoidance makes Hamilton's gut clench, but he manages to hold his tongue.

_Please_ , he thinks, even as he clings to a patience he does not feel. _Please don't send me away._

It feels like an absolute eternity before Washington looks at him again. The new resolve in his eyes does nothing to calm Hamilton's nerves, until he hears his general speak.

"A game of chess sounds nice." A pause follows. A slow inhale as though Washington is struggling to ground himself. "The rest of these approvals can wait until morning. Shall we go now?"

Hamilton lets out the breath he's been holding. "Yeah," he says. "Now is good."

**Author's Note:**

> Prompts: Contrast, Confidence, Profession


End file.
